Remembrance
by Ancalyme
Summary: Voldemort remembers. Set in the distant, indefinite future slight HPLV


Title: Remembrance

Author: Ancalyme

Rating: R

Category: Angst

Secondary Category: General

Characters: Voldemort, Harry

Summary: Voldemort remembers. Set in the distant, indefinite future; slight HP/LV;

_**Remembrance**_

Voldemort starred at the silent figure on the grand golden throne. It was one of his older habits to come twice a week here to check if the figure had moved; a futile habit, for his once enemy was sitting in exactly the same position as he was placed there years and years ago: back straight, hands resting on the armrests, head dipped slightly to the side, half-lidded jade eyes blank. One would think it was the dead corpse of some long deceased and forgotten prince if it wasn't for the occasional flicker of desperate longing, followed by an odd defiance.

The half-buried link between them was still active. He could even now feel the boy –no, man- longing for something, something only he could give him, yet he remained silent.

"Won't you speak?" he asked in a half-whisper. He asked it every time, and every time he received no answer to it. In the early years there still was an occasional word, but now speaking held no more appeal to him, or to any of them. Voldemort himself rarely spoke, and even more rarely strayed from his safe haven to be in need of them. When you reach a certain age, your dreams become distant and time only a word. Summers pass to leave way for autumn and winter, until the spring arrives, like a phoenix rising from the death many, many times over. He had ceased to count the winters since he had left his empire in the hands of the Malfoy family, since the Mudbloods started invading the Wizarding World anew and his name, once feared, became buried in dusty history books, the terror and power he once held only a story with wich to scare little children.

Usually, after asking the question he left to spend further meaningless days in his old, grimy library until it was time to visit again. He did not remember the last time sun had touched his skin; however, today was different. He was tired, emotionally and physically. He had lived well past the age most wizards did, until he was old enough not to care about his dream of immortality anymore. More than ever, he understood Dumbledore's words now, and waited for death to come lurking one night and take him into distant shadowed lands.

"Why won't you speak?" he paused again. He felt it needed to be said. "I remember, you know; a time long past, when my one goal was to break you in thousand shiny little pieces that no one knew to pick up and put together again ... a time when my goal was to rid myself of you, without risking the wrath of a prophecy yet indefinite to me..." The memories of that time were still clear to him as if it they happened yesterday. "I remember when I stole you away from your illusion of safety, from a home that could only protect you as long as you considered it as that, what you did not; a time when, by law, you weren't even a man yet..." He smiled dourly at this. "I remember you wouldn't break. Hours turning into days, every minute unique in its agony, you withstood the Cruciatus. After a while, you reacquainted yourself with the virtue of silence that you have cultivated in your childhood; I even remember those memories of yours, from when your mind was weak ..."

Oh, how he remembered them. He recalled being somewhat amused by the likeness of them both, in conjunction with being horrified that in spite of what the muggles had done to him, the boy continued to play the saviour. He had spent a great amount of time watching the child fight the pain, reminded of himself. "Oh, yes, your voice wasn't dead yet, but you didn't scream anymore. Yet, your eyes were still spitting a fire worthy of a dragon's; I must confess I miss that spark of life in them. You had beautiful eyes, once, the colour of unblemished emerald. Now they are deadened and flat, and the most hideous thing one could ever hope to see in this world..." _particularly if compared to what they have been,_ he added mentally. "But as much emotion as your eyes expressed, I wanted to hear your voice. Therefore, in an _ingenious_" he sneered at this "act of _hindsight_ from my part, I gave you to my servants as a toy. I was relieved as your screams filled the dark and cold hallways again_" and I savoured them like my personal ambrosias._

"Jealousy is a fickle goddess. She took hold of me in a way I would not have imagined; suddenly your screams were not enough. I wanted to have you under me"_ touch you_ "writhing in agony" _and pleasure_ "knowing it was I who did that to you" _knowing you were mine_... "I learned early in life that if you wanted something you had to take it" _I wanted you";_ and took you I did; but, I was enraged as you did not give yourself to me fully. You hated me, your eyes burned me"_ and my soul_ "and your voice shredded me" _and the heart I always denied to have_ "to pieces; in turn, I laughed to your face. Furious, I caged you within your own nightmares. Somehow, I still don't know how, you saw through my illusions and your soul stayed fierce and defiant, just like that of a lion."

Even know, when the red glow of sunset enveloped him, reflecting on the heavy golden robes and piles of galleons and jewellery, he looked like an old lion. Time had been kind on the boy; his hair was long with silver strands and a yet short beard graced his unwrinkled face. Wrinkles came from laughter, mirth, scowls, frowns, but as he had not moved his face since he was about eighteen, it still had the youngish quality. In a way, it made him look surreal, like a statue made by an artist who did not know how to sculpt facial features...

Even so, it was almost improbable for a wizard to live this long. Voldemort assumed his magic sustained him, instead of food and water.

"The final battle swiftly came. We managed to capture your two friends and Albus Dumbledore alive, but under strong sedative potions and curses. We killed the children in front of you; I still remember your expression, that was so utterly beautiful" _broken_ "and perfect" _painful._ "I always either under or overestimated Dumbledore; In this case I underestimated him. He broke through the heavy sedatives and screamed something to you, before I managed to kill him"

_("Whatever you do, Harry! Promise me! Promise me that you will not tell him about the prophecy! Ever! Pro-") _He was dead before he ended the statement, but it was too late. True to his word, Harry never told him about the prophecy, and he had a feeling Harry would never break his promise in the future either. It did not matter now anyhow.

"Oh, yes, I won. One of the greatest memories I have. We had lavish feasts and parties in the aftermath, and killed all muggleborn children before they even received their letters. The muggle-lovers and traitors bathed in the blood of the ones they tried so desperately to protect.. It was the same time when you fell silent... silent and limp. You did not oppose us as I brought you here and put you on a throne that was once a wooden, uncomfortable, high-baked chair in a damp dungeon."

After the fall of the light side, he had ruled for one hundred years; they called the time the 'Golden Age of the Dark Arts'. He had ruled with iron fist, exterminating all muggleborn wizards and witches, and distancing the Wizarding World from the muggle one. After one hundred years, he had given most of his political powers over to Draco Malfoy, his right-hand man. He had made this decision because politics didn't fascinate him anymore, and world-domination became a childhoods-dream. Yet, that had been a very, very long time ago...

Furthermore, his little prisoner has not moved one inch since. He had rearely come here during the Golden Age, preferring the company of his servants, even though he could not enjoy his glory fully. Although, when he did come, the child was in the same position.

After that, he had retreated to this place, his small haven, along with a number of riches... and the boy. Had he placed the gold with the boy or boy with the gold? He did not know...

"I found that I missed your voice more than ever, and tried to make you speak. I could not torture you anymore, no, I could not find satisfaction in it anymore; thus, I covered in riches beyond imagination and seated you on a throne, yet you remained impassive ... for a very long time. I told you I would give you the world for one move, my soul for one word...

"I do not know why I can't die. I have been stabbed and poisoned before, and lived beyond what any other witch or wizard did. Now I am waiting for death to take me, but it will not come! It will not come because I can feel something left unsolved. I feel your longing as if it were my own, but I don't know what you long for. I gave you riches any man would desire, I would even give you myself if you asked for it..." he trailed off.

The silent figure remained detached.

Voldemort swallowed harshly and went to leave the room _(everything was so hopeless, hopeless, hopeless!), _but something made him turn around. Were the boys eyes just a little bit more focused? Were the words that permeated his thoughts (_"I promised"_) his? Alas, as the boy made no further move, Voldemort assumed it was just a figment of his imagination.

He slammed the door shut behind him.

Had he stayed a moment longer, he would have seen tears tear trickle down Harry's face, but he hastily brushedthem away beforethey would leave any evidence, and set his hand back on the armrest, as it has laid for hundreds of years. He did not hear the broken whisper of "I promised..."

"_Either must die at the hands of the other..."_

Nothing could kill either of them besides the other: no poison, no knife, no curse, and not even time. In addition, they would not kill each other either: one because he did not know, and the other because he had promised not to tell...

* * *

A/N: Well this turned out vaguely well... The bunny hoped into my head just like by _Ad Infinitum_, but this took slightly longer to write. About three to four hours actually, while _Ad Infinitum _took somewhere between half an hour and an hour. Its an one-shot, so there is no second part planned. I would be grateful for any reviews, even one-liners, to know if people read this. R/R 


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